


The Odd Couple

by lasergirl



Category: Dodgeball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasergirl/pseuds/lasergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Behind the cameras relationship snapshot of Cotton and Pepper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**Dodgeball: The Odd Couple 1/5**_  
**Title:** The Odd Couple  
**Fandom:** Dodgeball  
**Rating:** M for Mature  
**Pairing:** Cotton/Pepper (the ESPN 8 sportscasters)  
**Notes:** I love this movie SO MUCH it's perverse. I guess. And, not wanting to slash the obvious (for me that would be Peter and Steve the Pirate, which would put me directly in the Special Hell without passing Go or collection $200) I thought I'd go with my favourite pairing, and definitely the one last on everyone's minds. It's alright, I deliver the kinds of things no one even dreamed about. I enjoy it. I hope you enjoy this!

At first, Cotton McKnight told himself that it was just another paycheck. The year had been bad at ESPN - the Armchair Sports Channel Six hadn't done as well as projected, and Seven (the Extreme Polo channel) had bellied-up in the third quarter. Cotton was three months away from total unemployment, his colour commentary skills wasted. He wasn't flashy enough for the top ESPN channels, and he blamed his damned Masters in History he'd suffered through in order to stay on the air at the college radio station. When he'd taken the combined double major, English and Broadcasting, he'd never expected it to lead him to ESPN - or to happiness.

"The Ocho" sounded like a bomb from the start, but he'd taken the job willingly. Anything to get out of colour-commentary on taut coed chess matches (Six) and the latest ponies to go out with ergot or shin splints. The market research seemed sounder, at least, when the figures projected that, given proper advertising placement, ESPN could capture at least 50% of the total subscribed readership of Obscure Sports Quarterly. It was a match made in network heaven!

The Big Boss called Cotton into his office one morning to give him the good news.

"We've got the go-ahead on "The Ocho" and it looks like we've got a full season already." He handed over a fat stack of shiny colour press releases. Lawn Tractor Derbies. Bowling. Croquet. Elimination Ballet. "How much do you know about Dodgeball, McKnight?"

Cotton drew a blank at first, then a vague memory of grade-school torture filtered back to him. He could still feel the sting of the rubber balls bouncing off the backs of his thighs. He shivered.

"It's a brutal game, Dodgeball," he said evenly, "Only the best survive. Players have even been known to drop dead on the court, why, the Russia-America game in '67 was nearly called for that infraction. But once they proved the player died after he crossed the boundary line, they reinstated. They didn't even have to go into Overtime."

"I can see you know your stuff," the Big Boss grunted and poked a fat finger at one of the press releases. It obediently slid out of the pile, sifting to the desk top between them. "You heard of this guy?"

Cotton picked up the release and skimmed it; Pepper Brooks, he remembered the name. Once the pride of the American International Olympic Dodgeball Team, he'd taken one too many blows to the head in the first semi-final and had to sit out the rest of the competition.

"Sure," Cotton said, "He's a great athlete."

"Was," the Big Boss groaned, snatching back the info sheet and scrubbing a palm over his face. "He *was* a great athlete. Since those concussions, he's not good for anything but a target. You remember the North American Showcase?"

Cotton nodded. It had been a disaster for the ADAA when Brooks had been named team captain. He shouldn't even have been playing - two serious concussions in a season was dangerous enough - but the team physician was easily persuaded to give him a clean bill of health.

"I still can't believe he managed to get a monkey and two ferrets into his hotel room without anyone noticing," Cotton said. The Big Boss growled.

"I wouldn't mention that around here," he said darkly. "His lawyers dodged the mischief and perversion charges, we could all get slapped with a lawsuit for even bringing up the topic again. Anyway. Watch what you say to him, because he's your new partner."

Even a seasoned sports journalist like Cotton McKnight couldn't disguise his shock. His mouth fell open with a gasp.

"No. You can't be serious."

The Big Boss shrugged and rolled his eyes. "The target audience likes him. It's gonna be a pain in the ass but I'm sure you can handle him. You're moving up, McKnight."

"Yeah, thanks," Cotton said as he was dismissed from the office. What in hell was he going to do now? "I'm looking forward to it."

Questions? Comments? Feedback always appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time they met, Pepper hugged him like an old friend and kissed him on the cheek. Cotton was mortified.

"God, he's so uptight, isn't he?" Pepper pushed his mirrored sunglasses down his nose and squinted over the rims. His hair stuck up in haphazard spikes and he was gnawing on a hot-pink wad of gum. "Didn't I see you announcing racehorses or something?"

Cotton soured, "Polo," he said curtly.

"Isn't that the sport of kings?" Pepper snapped his gum and grinned at his entourage. What he needed with an escort of a high-priced lawyer, a Swedish massage therapist and a hair/makeup artist following him around, Cotton couldn't begin to guess. "Or was that the sport of queens instead? I always get those mixed up."

"It's neither," Cotton sniffed. "Unfortunately polo doesn't have a catchphrase. That's one of the reasons it bombs on television. They don't know how to market it."

"Hard to sex it up?" Pepper wiggled his hips lasciviously, miming the greased-up pole dancers that, in Cotton's eyes, he obviously was overly familiar with. "No halftime show. I bet they'd have a hard time finding a place for the cheerleaders."

Mentally, Cotton hit his head against the wall five or six times before giving Pepper a feeble smile. "That must be it. Listen, I've got background to do before our rehearsals this afternoon, I'll be in my office if you need me."

"Cool," Pepper slapped him on the shoulder as he passed. "I'm right next door. I can visit you whenever I want! That rocks!"

Cotton groaned inwardly at the prospect.

**

"Hey, Cot, can I ask you something?" Pepper was in the doorway of Cotton's office, holding a mic pack and leaning slightly sideways like the world was tilting away on him.

Cotton sighed and took his reading glasses off. "Go ahead." The viewership stats and sponsorship confirmations would have to wait.

"'Kay, so when you broadcast, do you always have to wear this little thing in your ear? It's driving me nuts." He shoved the battery pack into the waistband of his pants and fiddled with the wires on the earpiece. "I had to wear one of these for some awards thing once and..." He paused and shook one hand pathetically, the cord wrapped tightly around his wrist. "Uh...."

"Hold on!" Cotton shoved his chair back and came quickly around the desk. "These things can be a little tricky if you don't get it right. Don't you have a technician or something for this, or..." He trailed off into silence as he realized Pepper knew nothing about union regulations. He sighed and grabbed Pepper's wrist. "Okay, here. This goes up the back of your neck - they'll tape it for you before we go live - and the mic sits over your ear."

"Wow, how'd you know all this stuff?" With his sunglasses off, Pepper actually had pretty nice eyes, hazel flecked with green. His pupils were, Cotton noticed, distinctly uneven.

"Twenty years of broadcasting will do it," Cotton said, suddenly uncomfortable. The doorway seemed too small for both of them. "You pick up skills along the way."

"Hey, well I'm always ready to learn new tricks," Pepper flashed his teeth in a vague grin, "This tv thing sounds like a cool gig. How come you're working for the "Ocho," anyway? I want to do the weather or something. That'd be rad."

Cotton escaped from the doorway, pacing back to his desk in an effort to regain his composure. "I bring maturity and credibility to alternative sportscasting," he said with a wry smile, knowing how pompous it sounded. "They want you for verité and the youth market."

Pepper guffawed and flung himself into the chair facing Cotton's big desk. "Whatever that means. I mean, what the hell are you doing here? Don't you have a wife and kids or some shit?"

"I'm divorced," said Cotton, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. There had been a messy legal affair some years ago, before he'd stopped drinking. He'd never been able to talk to women anyways, they found him stuffy and stuck-up. Well, things could be worse. He could be a washed-up ex-dodgeballer stuck on tv without a clue. "It's better that way. I never had time for a relationship. I work too hard."

"Yeah, I had a couple wives who complained about that." Pepper stretched luxuriously and put one foot up on the edge of Cotton's desk. His jeans were far too tight and Cotton suddenly found it difficult to breathe. "But thank god I didn't have prenups, you know? That coulda been messy when they found out about the poolboys. But anyway. Hey." He slid out of the chair and patted Cotton on the shoulder. "We're cool. I'm gonna go and play with this mic thing some more. Thanks for the help, man!"

When Pepper left, Cotton leaned against his desk and wheezed.


	3. Chapter 3

The nightmare started shortly after they checked into their rooms at the Monte Carlo. Pepper was still a little woozy from the vodka and altitude, and he crawled face first into a soft mountain of pillows to sleep it off, leaving Cotton to go over the lineups with the floor manager. He stayed unconscious until midafternoon, when Cotton banged on his door.

"It's time, Pepper. You're going to miss the walk-around if you don't get up."

"Mmph," came the reply through the bolted door. A few crashes and thumps later, Pepper slid out the door, zipping himself into a brightly-coloured sweatshirt. "What?"

"Nothing," Cotton shook his head as they headed for the elevator. At least now he knew the secret to Pepper's gravity-defying hair. "I thought you might want to see where we're going to be working, get a feel for the place, meet some of the support staff."

Pepper wedged himself into the corner of the elevator and watched his reflections line up to eternity. He squinted. "I heard they hired some girls, that true?" He was making little finger puppets in the glass above Cotton's left shoulder.

"I believe so," Cotton said uneasily. He had hoped the long plane ride and concentration on the tasks at hand might distract him a little more from Pepper's.... well... If he had been forced to admit it, he would have said Pepper was attractive. There was the way he moved; the way only good athletes knew how, with looseness in every muscle and a smile on his face. He watched the games they covered with every fibre of his body at attention. Cotton couldn't help but find that enthusiasm attractive! It spilled over into other areas as well, like Pepper's mania for stats, or his penchant for chasing cheerleaders.

"Hey, Cot?" Pepper was looking at him with his sunglasses pushed up into his wild thatch of hair. "Maybe we should get off together?"

"Get off?" Cotton's eyes widened and he gasped "Not here!" Wild thoughts swirled in his head. If he put his mind to it, Pepper could easily overpower him, and then....

"But dude, it's our floor."

Cotton stepped off with a groan, hiding his embarassment behind a strategically-placed clipboard.


	4. Chapter 4

"Congratulations, McKnight," cheered the Big Boss a few weeks later. "Your ratings are strong! Have a look at the figures."

Cotton opened the folder in front of him with thumb and forefinger, and pursed his lips as he read the approvals.

"To tell you the truth, I was worried you wouldn't get along with that Brooks fellow, but the kids love the schtick! You two are like Cherry and McLean! George and Gracie! Mathhau - no - Curtis and Lemmon!" The Big Boss thumped his desk approvingly. "You've been doing good on the regionals, so good that we've snagged the whole contract for televising the championships!"

"The Las Vegas Open?" Cotton looked up in surprise. "We've been lucky so far because the games have been small, but this... this is serious sponsorship. I don't know if Pepper's ready for this."

"Bullshit," grunted the Big Boss, "He's ready as he'll ever be. I'm sending you out a couple days early so we can get coverage. An exclusive in-depth, you know, gritty locker room footage. Talk to the athletes, get the buzz. There's a team I hear is coming up strong from LA. There could be a major push in this. It'll look good for the "Ocho" if we're there from the beginning."

"You can count on me, sir," Cotton rose and shook hands with the Big Boss. Already, his mind was racing. There was more research to be done, he hadn't gone over the wardrobe changes with his support crew yet, and Pepper, well....

"Oh, McKnight? One more thing." The Big Boss leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his prominent belly. "Keep Brooks outta the whores."

**

They flew out of Bradley International early in the morning and Cotton set himself up to read player stats for most of the flight. Pepper, on the other hand, immediately sprawled out across two first-class seats and snored. His luridly-coloured cross-trainers stuck out into the aisle, and when the stewardesses brought the drink cart down the plane, he woke up with a snort.

"Can I get some of those little plastic bottles of vodka?" He mumbled, flapping a crumpled fifty in the stewardess' direction. "Maybe a gingerale. No, three."

It was 7:45 am, Eastern Standard Time. Cotton groaned and stuck his head into his folder.

"Certainly, sir." He could hear the crack and snap of aluminum and plastic cups of ice. Pepper sighed happily. "And will there be anything for you?"

Cotton smiled pleasantly. "Black coffee, please." It smelled alright, especially for airplane fare. He balanced it delicately on his tray table as the stewardesses moved on.

"Hey, Cot?" Pepper cracked the tiny caps on the Smirnoffs and upended them, one by one, into his three gingerales. "Are you mad at me or something? How come I haven't got any of those fancy folders? They look shiny."

"I didn't think you wanted to read them," Cotton said apologetically, wondering in the back of his head if Pepper could even read. "They're pretty boring, just stastistics."

"No way!" Pepper exclaimed, "I fucking love stats. They're, like, math stuff I actually understand! Let me see 'em!"

Cotton handed over the duplicates and Pepper wriggled into a cross-legged position on his seat. "Dude, these teams look awesome! This is gonna be a hell of a championship, isn't it?"

It was hard to believe they sat and talked stats for the entire flight, but it was almost a surprise when the seatbelt light flipped on again and the view outside the windows showed desert and blue mountains.


	5. Chapter 5

He was almost thankful for the day to be over. Tomorrow, the first of the amateur dodgeball teams were scheduled to arrive, and the backup coverage shoot would begin. Cotton still had his reservations about Pepper Brooks' fitness as an anchor, but he hoped maybe there was still time to redeem himself with personal interviews or insights into the game. That was, after all, the point of pairing a seasoned sports anchor with a popular athlete (even in a sport as non-secular and obscure as dodgeball).

He had tenacity, Cotton had to admit, but his gaffes were still irksome, and for a rehearsal that should have only taken two hours, pushing it to three and a half because of 'bad feng shui' on the court was a little much. There had been several heated discussions, and fiddling with the microphones before Pepper could even be convinced to sit at the desk. Cotton hoped this wouldn't be a premonition of terrors to come.

So when the knock came on his door, he was hardly surprised. He wasn't even going to answer it, hoping to feign sleep instead. But then, there came the tenacity again.

"I know you're in there, bro, your light's on!" Pepper hammered on the door with his fists like banging out a drumroll. Cotton peered through the peephole, expecting him to be weaving drunk with two or three of the casino girls on his arms. He was surprised to see no such thing. He cracked the door open on its chain. "Hey! My man Cotton, what's up?"

Cotton winced as his body reminded him of what lay on the other side of the door, and just what, exactly, wanted to be up.

"Pepper. Do you have the wrong room?"

"No, way. I thought you could use some company, you know." He tried to squeeze in through the gap but didn't fit. "We could talk or some shit."

Oh, this was good. "Pepper, we've done nothing all day but talk. It's time now to not talk, and get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day, and you don't want to be all tired out, do you?"

"I bounce back," Pepper swayed against the wall with one hip, demonstrating his bounce. Cotton's heart did a little flip. "Come on, we're buddies. You could use the company."

"Pepper... it's late." Cotton sighed and shut the door. There was a little whimper on the other side, then he relented and let the chain off the hook. 'And you're right. I could use the company."

Pepper bounded in like an excited puppy, did a few turns around the bed and couch, then stuck his head into the executive bathroom. "It's like a mindtrip, man, this place is totally the opposite of mine! I feel lost!" He paced out the steps from the door to the bed. "I swear my bed's bigger than that, though. It looks tiny." He threw himself down onto it and rolled around, trainers flailing. "Maybe it just needs breaking in."

"Pepper, I admire your enthusiasm," Cotton sighed. He took his reading glasses from their perch on his nose and put them carefully back in the case. It was obvious he wasn't going to be getting any more homework done. "But it's been a long day for both of us. We've been on the move since 4am, plus the time change! I'm exhausted."

Pepper paused in his exploration of the bed, paused in a pose that made Cotton stop and rephrase his thoughts. Maybe his mind was exhausted, but his body was very much awake. Pepper idly scratched an itch conveniently placed in the gap where six inches of skin showed under his ridden-up sweatshirt. He was slightly tanned and leaner than double-shot skim macchiato.

The blindingly terrible comparison made his head spin, and before he knew it, Cotton was sitting down on the bed next to him. Pepper parted his legs just enough for him to fit.

"You're not looking that tired to me," Pepper said, throwing his head back on the pillow and gazing down the line of his body to where Cotton sat. "Dude, you're on fire!"

Cotton thought maybe he could have used a little shame at that point, but to hell with it. He reached out for the nearest part of Pepper he could reach - the waistband of his warmup pants - and pulled. Pepper gave a yelp of surprise and popped up, grinning crookedly, to plant a big, sloppy kiss right smack dab in the centre of Cotton's mouth. Before he knew it, Cotton was kissing him back, kissing and running his hands along the lithe body underneath the sportswear, feeling the heat and swell of each muscle and the mean curve of bone. When his fingers traced the tattoo on Pepper's neck, Cotton could feel him shaking at his touch.

"I can stop," he said slowly.

After the deliberation of one-point-five seconds, Pepper said, "Nope!"

So it was all right then. Cotton didn't think about how this could look, only how it felt, and it felt wonderful!

Pepper's hands were starting to crawl too, over Cotton's narrow shoulders and button-down shirt, searching for an entrance to enlarge. With a grunt, he felt his tie fly free. Then, one by one, the buttons popped open on his shirt. The air hitting his skin made him shiver.

"My turn," said Pepper in a pause to catch his breath, "I can stop if you want."

"Oh, sweet Jesus, no!" Cotton heard himself saying.

Pepper might have been sidelined from professional sports because of injury, but there were no doubts to his precision now: he found all of the places that made Cotton squirm (and remembered them) and still managed to find the time to shuck off his own sweatshirt and the skin-tight undershirt below it.

"Best part?" He guestured at his training pants, so obviously covering - but not concealing - his growing arousal, "Easy access." A flick of the wrist, and every snap popped open as he whipped the pants off.

Cotton tried not to think of male strippers. He tried, failed, and then Pepper was back on him and there was no time for further comparisons. The little animal noises that escaped Pepper's lips just seemed to urge him on; Cotton followed the twist and ripple of definition down to the scanty bikini briefs, bright red. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic and tugged. Pepper muttered something incoherent as he took hold.

It had been a long time since college, but Cotton knew what he was doing. As he sucked, he was vaguely aware of Pepper twisting awkwardly beneath him, and then suddenly there were hot hands in his fly. He gasped in surprise, then in arousal as Pepper started to return his favour.

The rhythm sorted itself out after a few quick jerks, and then it was smooth and hot and wet, and when Cotton started to feel the little tingles starting in his toes, Pepper was moaning, and the noises sent the shivers up Cotton's spine, and then they were both quaking and shuddering and falling over each other into orgasm.

For a long while, Cotton didn't move. He didn't want to open his eyes and end the moment. But then, in dismay, he heard Pepper begin to snore next to him. His eyes snapped open.

"Gotcha," Pepper laughed. His feet were on the pillow next to Cotton's head and he wiggled his painted toenails suggestively. Cotton sighed.

"I suppose there's no hope of getting you to leave now, is there?" He tried to sound stern but the words came out far too soft. Cotton felt the last little hard centre of his resolve melt away.

"Depends," Pepper winked, crawling up to the pillows, "Can we order room service? I'm starving." He insinuated himself under Cotton's arm, snuggling in to form one half of a warm little circle.

Cotton patted his hair and said, "Sure we can."

END.


End file.
